


A Type of Heaven.

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine has to be off doing knightly things. Merlin pines. But then "Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven." Canon future-fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Type of Heaven.

 

"After consideration and consultation, I have decided that Sirs Lancelot and Gwaine will lead this season's patrol to the northern borders," Arthur announces to the crowded hall.

It takes everything in Merlin not to turn and gawp at him. Gwaine catches his eye from across the room and Merlin widens his eyes trying to convey that _no, no, I didn't know about this_. He manages to restrain himself until the rest of the court has filed out and then he rounds on Arthur.

"What are you – "

Arthur raises a hand to cut him off and Merlin notices how very tired he looks. "Merlin, I know you care for the man but he's a knight of Camelot. I can't hold him back here for your benefit."

And Merlin knows that's true, knows it's even fair. Nowhere in the statutes of kingship does it say that Arthur is required to hold loved ones back from danger. In fact, it's the curse of the crown, Merlin's often thought, that Arthur has to send those he cares for most right into peril. Still, he thinks of months – _months_ – without Gwaine, without his smile and his voice, the soft curl of his hair across Merlin's pillow in the mornings, the way his beard feels under Merlin's fingertips and he can't _really_ bring himself to care about Arthur's burdens.

Selfish maybe, but Merlin feels awful, wants to sulk like a child, and that only makes him feel worse. Because of course Gwaine cannot stay behind just because Merlin – because he is Merlin's – _world_ , _safe haven, escape_ – lover, Merlin thinks as he follows Arthur. Gwaine himself would probably be furious at the very idea.

"Everyone is missed, prayed for, loved by someone," Arthur says in the private moment before they have to attend to a delegation from the valleys.

He's trying to help in his Arthur-ish way, and Merlin just nods. "I know."

He counts the minutes until he can leave, track Gwaine down. Merlin eventually finds him in the rooms that started out Merlin's and became theirs because Gwaine does not give a single solitary thought to propriety. He's sorting through their belongings, which always end up mixed together, and he turns to look at Merlin.

They're both speechless for a moment. "I didn't know," Merlin says eventually.

"I know," Gwaine assures him. "I imagine we'd have been shagging a lot more purposefully if you had."

Merlin hiccups out a laugh and Gwaine reaches for his hand. Merlin lets himself be pulled in, smiles as Gwaine kisses the back of his knuckles. "It does make sense," he says reluctantly, his lips brushing over the back of Merlin's hand. "Lancelot and I both spent some time there in our wanderings."

Merlin supposes he knew that deep down, and so knew this was always more of a probability than a possibility. Somehow that doesn't make him feel any better and he says, "I don't want you to go."

"Merlin – "

"I know! Okay. I know. You have to. But I don't have to like it."

"I'm not relishing a season in the north, myself," Gwaine says gently.

Merlin sighs and the irritation seems to leech out of him. "I know."

Gwaine holds out his arms and Merlin falls into them without a pause, saying, "I _do_ know."

"And you know I'll always come back, don't you?"

"I should hope so," Merlin says. "Arthur takes a hard line on desertion."

"You fool," Gwaine says affectionately. "I'll always come back to _you_."

Merlin doesn't have anything to say to that, just slides his hand down Gwaine's arm and leads him to the bed. They make love slowly while they can and when they can't sustain a gentle pace anymore they move together, all pretence that they aren't desperate and unhappy melting away.

"Make me your page," Merlin says afterwards. "So I can come with you."

"Okay," Gwaine says agreeably. "You clear it with Arthur."

Merlin huffs. "Bollocks to Arthur."

"Quite," Gwaine says softly, stroking his fingers through Merlin's hair.

 

***

 

The next three days pass too quickly for Merlin. He's busy most of the time and Gwaine's busy the rest. Merlin tries not to think about three, maybe four months without Gwaine's company. It's not just the sex either, although _God_ , Merlin will miss that. He just never has so much fun as he does with Gwaine, never feels so simultaneously excited and at his ease. The next few months, as well as being busy consolidating Camelot's power with Arthur, are going to be so dull.

The evening before Gwaine is due to leave, Merlin is determined not to waste a second of time. He knows Lancelot and Gwaine will be meeting with Arthur late into the evening and he secretes himself in an alcove just down from the king's council chambers. He casts a spell that's supposed to make him...not completely invisible, just unnoticed. It's hardly a secret, his relationship with Gwaine, and Merlin is already getting sick of the sympathetic looks from the ladies of the court. Many of them have men riding out with the patrol, and Merlin isn't _entirely_ comfortable with the way they seem to think they have something in common with him now. _Maybe,_ he thinks with a shiver, _they will expect him to join them in the embroidery circles Gwen so assiduously avoids_.

It's a relief when a group of them pass him without pause, talking in excited misery about being parted from their men. A while later Arthur's door opens and Merlin straightens up expectantly. It's only Lancelot though, calling farewells over his shoulder. Gwaine and Arthur emerge a moment later, still in conversation. Merlin is about to approach them when Gwaine's next words give him pause.

"Look after Merlin."

Arthur, predictably, is affronted. "I always do, you know."

"I know," Gwaine says. "I know. But I had to say it. I had to."

They're past his alcove now, but Merlin can imagine Arthur's curt nod as he says, "Consider it done."

Merlin presses his forehead to the wall. It's stupid to cry just because you love someone so much. Gwaine will be back, and Arthur – well, Merlin should be more than used to his occasional bursts of maddening sweetness by now. He's really not though, so he just hides until their voices die away, their conversation turned to tactics now, a king and his knight.

 

***

 

The next morning in the courtyard, Gwaine looks down from his saddle at Merlin with a soft smile. Merlin clears his throat and reminds himself that they've already said everything that truly matters. They spent most of the night awake, either talking or making love, and the tiredness shows itself in the faint shadows under Gwaine's eyes.

"Try not to get Lancelot into too much trouble," he tells Gwaine.

Gwaine's smile widens. "Don't let the princess get himself killed."

And then he's gone. Merlin watches the patrol file out of the courtyard and later he watches the last of the dust from their passage settling on the road.

 

***

 

The summer passes. Slowly.

Merlin leaps on every bit of news from the north, suddenly attending to the constant reports Arthur receives in a way he never has before. Arthur seems mostly amused by his pining, although sometimes he gets a look of sympathy that's almost worse. Merlin discovers that his fears were absolutely correct. He is so mindlessly bored for weeks on end that a few times he disguises himself as one of the wandering sorcerers who have become more and more frequent in Camelot. He spends the days performing tricks for the entertainment of children and making bets with himself about how long Arthur will go on shouting when he finally goes back to his duties.

As the summer draws to a close a party of druids arrive in Camelot to discuss peace and strengthening the bonds between their people. Negotiations are often tense, derailed many times into an enumeration of past wrongs (thank you so much, Uther). Still, the druids leave happy and as it's the culmination of a lot of work, Merlin and Arthur steal away with some bottles of the finest plum brandy in the cellar.

Up on the battlements they watch wispy grey clouds gather, feel the last of the heat fade from the day. Night's thick by the time they stumble down the stairs, leaning against each other for support. Arthur flings a comforting arm around his shoulder.

"He'll be home soon."

"Yeah," Merlin agrees, grinning hugely. "Can't wait."

When the leaves start to change colour later that month, Merlin has to struggle to keep a lid on his excitement. It's weeks now, not months, and soon it will be days. _Gwaine, Gwaine, Gwaine_. His heart seems to pound to the rhythm of it and then –

"They'll have to stay," Arthur concludes. "Another season at least."

Merlin manages to bite his tongue until they're alone and then he says, "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes," Arthur tells him frankly. He at least adds, "Sorry, Merlin."

A note arrives by messenger a couple of weeks later.

_Spit in his breakfast._  
Yours, always,  
Sir Gwaine of the frozen north.

 

***

 

They manage, somehow, although Merlin misses Gwaine so fiercely he's not sure how. And then one wonderful day Arthur tells him, "They're on the way. A couple of weeks now."

He breaks into a huge smile and Arthur says, "Oh, _honestly_. The state you've been in, I'll never let him leave the castle again."

"Suits me," Merlin says with a shrug, and Arthur laughs.

Merlin spends inordinate amounts of time in the next week and a half hanging around the courtyard for no good reason, or haunting the battlements, just desperate for any scrap of news. He doesn't even care when Arthur laughingly compares him to a faithful maiden. As it turns out he's with Arthur when a page announces that the party has been sighted, a day's ride from Camelot. Naturally, Arthur teases him mercilessly for a good long time.

Once he's had his fun he waves a hand dismissively and says, "Go on. I don't suppose you're going to be any use between now and the party's return."

"Not a bit," Merlin agrees cheerfully, adding, "And if I have my way, not for a while afterwards."

Arthur's faintly scandalised yell of, " _Merlin_!" follows him down the hall.

 

***

 

Merlin knows it's silly because it's not like he can't just send out for the finest of everything, but he takes himself off to the market and seeks out Gwaine 's old favourites – spiced mead and dried fruit and bread flavoured with herbs. As he's looking at a stall of fresh fish, asking what stock there's likely to be in a couple of days time, a pair of hands cover his eyes and a wonderful voice says,

"Fancy seeing you here."

Merlin whirls around, trout forgotten, and gapes at Gwaine in all his finery.

"Shut your mouth, Merlin," he says with a bright twinkle in his eye. "You look like one of this good man's fine fish."

"What – but you – they said you were a day away."

Gwaine shrugs. "Rode ahead. Scouting. Or something."

"You – !" Merlin laughs, simple happiness flooding him.

"I have to say, this isn't quite the welcome I was expecting," Gwaine admits.

Merlin laughs again, grabs Gwaine by his cloak and kisses him passionately. He doesn't care what anyone might think and besides, they've been the talk of the castle for far worse than a kiss in their time. Gwaine holds onto Merlin tightly, swaying a little with him, and Merlin has missed this _so much_. It's like he's only just realising quite how much, and now he has, he can't imagine how he ever survived it.

"Never go anywhere again," Merlin pleads.

"M'not," Gwaine promises, nuzzling at his jaw.

"I mean it," Merlin gasps. "I've been – God, utterly useless without you."

"Me too."

"Yeah, right." Merlin pulls at Gwaine's wrist and doesn't let go even when it's obvious that Gwaine has no problem with making a beeline straight for their chambers.

"Don't believe me?" Gwaine asks as they walk. "Ask Lancelot, get him to tell you about the time I almost rode right off a cliff."

"What? _Why_?"

"Thinking about you," Gwaine admits. "Thought about you every day."

"Me too," Merlin tells him. "Oh God, God, you've no idea, ask anyone. I've been – just stupid without you."

Gwaine turns Merlin around and kisses his hand and Merlin has to try really hard not to smile like a complete idiot. He thinks it's probably a losing battle, and lets Gwaine pull him along.

"Let's take the back way," Merlin says when they get into the castle. "Arthur catches sight of you and I won't get you to myself for hours."

Gwaine nods his agreement and they end up practically chasing each other up the stairs, pausing often to kiss. Merlin can't help reaching out to touch Gwaine, partly just his normal hunger for the other man, and partly as a reassurance that yes, he's really here, really real.

The door to their chambers slams shut behind them and Merlin finds himself pushed up against it. For a moment he just closes his eyes and drinks in the sensation of Gwaine's hard body pressing all the way against his own. Then Gwaine noses along the edge of Merlin's jaw to press a soft kiss to the hot skin behind his ear and it's like a _punch_ of lust, he's suddenly so eager.

"Here," Gwaine says, laughing at Merlin's clumsy attempts to get inside his clothes. "Come on, here," he says, cold fingers walking up Merlin's ribs under his shirt. "God that feels good," he says, flattening his palm against Merlin's side, curving around to his back to pull him away from the door.

"No fair," Merlin protests and Gwaine stops touching him long enough for them to drag their clothes off. Gwaine falls onto his back on the bed, arms held wide and Merlin clambers up the length of his body to kiss him, bright laughter bubbling up.

Merlin was expecting desperation, grabbing and pulling and biting. He's been quietly relishing the idea in fact, but instead it's like Gwaine's never been away. They always have fun in bed, always laughing and teasing, and Merlin's glad that some things have not changed (will never change, if he gets his way). Gwaine seems intent on kissing every inch of him ( _I missed your legs. And your hands. Oh_ god _, I missed your hands_ ). It's slightly ridiculous but very sweet and Merlin just pulls Gwaine over him and sprawls beneath his lover, thinking _home at last._

"You don't know how cold those northern nights are," Gwaine tells him afterwards, nuzzling into Merlin's neck. "With only memories of this to keep me warm."

Merlin runs his hands through Gwaine's hair, pulls him up into a kiss. "Everything was so dull without you."

Gwaine laughs into Merlin's throat, the sensation humming through his body. "Glad to hear it."

Suddenly there's a riotous knocking at the door and they look at each other, then down at their unclothed bodies, and start scrambling for clothes.

"The king told me not to come in," a voice shouts through the door and Merlin thinks he recognises the slightly anxious tone of Gwion, the new page. "But I have a message for Lord Merlin and Sir Gwaine, if he's there."

"Oh, we're in trouble," Merlin groans. "I'm only _Lord_ when Arthur's really angry."

Gwaine laughs and tosses Merlin's shirt towards him. "Worth it," he says.

Merlin grins at him. "Always."

"What's the message, friend?" Gwaine calls.

There's a pause and even through the heavy wooden door Merlin imagines he can sense Gwion's discomfort. "Um. That you should stop scandalising the lower town and report to your king in a timely fashion like reliable servants of the crown instead of cavorting like lovesick children. Sir."

His footsteps hurry away and Merlin pauses in dressing to lean against Gwaine briefly.

"Aren't you glad you're back?"

Gwaine tilts his head and sets his palms on Merlin's cheeks. "On balance, I'd say yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on LJ [here](http://leashy-bebes.livejournal.com/246867.html)


End file.
